


My Brother's Keeper

by BluejayPrime



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (1977), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit (Video Games), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Baby Durins, Do Not Separate The Heirs Of Durin, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, During The Hobbit, Family, Family Feels, M/M, Pre-Quest for Erebor, Prequel, Thorin Feels, Uncle Thorin, durins house, lost durins, sons of durin, the blue mountains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluejayPrime/pseuds/BluejayPrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want to be a warrior" he repeated, "Like you. I want to protect – the baby. To make Mother smile." There was a strange noise in Thorin's breathing, making it sound forced and choked. "I'll teach you" his uncle finally answered, his voice muffled as he pressed a kiss to Fili's hair, "I'll teach you, little one, I promise." [There will be Fili/Kili and maybe Bagginshield lateron.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: A Child Is Born

**Author's Note:**

> Khûzdul used can be found at the end. Warnings may be added lateron, once they may be necessary. Enjoy! :)

The lad had not spoken for a year by now.

He was only five years old, barely able to walk by himself; far too young to understand that his father would not come home, and Dwalin had no doubts he did not understand the change going through his mother either. It wasn't unusual, for an infant to give up on speaking after a loss such as this. Especially not in a way such as this; with his father being snatched by orcs during a hunting trip, and him and Thorin only able to bring back what they had left of him; with the lad stumbling into the room on stubby legs in the worst possible moment to catch a glimpse of his father's mutilated corpse; with his mother, strong as rock as she was, barely able to take care of herself, let alone of her bairn, and only to discover she was carrying a second a few weeks after she'd buried its father.

So the lad did not speak. At first, they'd feared the shock had left him numb not just for speech, but for the world as a whole, but then, life had went on like it had before - well, not at all, of course, but he'd continued to follow his uncle and mother around as he had before, he reacted when spoken to - nodding or shaking his head, gesturing with small, chubby fingers, smiling at sweets and jokes - he just did not speak. He didn't want to speak, they'd figured out soon.

He'd also never left the mountain before. The dangerous two first years of his life, that had ended with Thorin as his acting name giver bestowing him with his Westron name, were barely past, the short phase of life many infants did not live through - the lassies even less than the lads - and he was still susceptible to fevers and cold; as much as dwarves did not worry about human diseases, there were enough of their own that could easily prove deadly for a child. The last night, when the King's sister had come down in childbirth, though, Dwalin had been charged with guarding the young prince. Thorin had not left his sister's side - that was no big surprise, seeing as her husband could not be there, and everyone knew how the King's own mother had died in childbed. The night before, a snowstorm had covered the Blue Mountains in leagues of freshly fallen snow, now gleaming under the winter sun, pale and yet risen high in the sky. The little prince grimaced a bit at the sudden light, burrowing himself against Dwalin's chest to shield his eyes. Dwalin gave him a gentle pat on the back, drawing his own cloak a little more around the lad when they passed through the gates, the guards greeting their captain with murmured words or a brief nod, their own fur linned cloaks drawn up to their noses to shield them from the cold, beards or not.

It was November now, the dwarven year still fresh and new, as was the snow that greeted them. It sparked the lad’s interest, that was for sure. He glanced out from the fur of Dwalin’s coat, tiny lips forming a perfect O at the sight, and it didn’t take overly long for him to start squirming and struggling to free himself from Dwalin’s grip. Obediently, he allowed the boy to walk on his own, despite the fact that the snow that barely reached up to his waistline almost covered the child head to toe. Fili seemed rather content with that, though; it didn’t take long until the short braids he wore were damp and white with snow, the lad dancing eagerly on tiptoe to catch single flakes with his tongue, following through the trace Dwalin left for him, and still reaching into the white mass that towered around him every now and then, eyes wide with amazement and bewilderment at the same time.

They did not venture overly far from the gates. The lad was already tired by the time they reached a small clearing in the pine forest, and Dwalin picked him up once more, helping him to sit on a fallen treetrunk to clean his face a bit, cheeks reddened from the cold already, but the lad grinning from ear to ear. It was hard to make him sit still even for so long, eager to explore as he was; Dwalin kept an eye on him as he went off to explore the clearing at surprising speed, burying his way through the snow. Of course, Dwalin was aware why Thorin had ordered him to take Fili outside. If anything was to happen to his mother, or the bairn she carried… or both…

No, Dwalin reminded himself as he watched the dwarfling frolic through the snow; all would be well. Oin was with them, and several of the other healers, too. Oin had already delivered Dís’ first son into the world, and he would not fail in his attempt to deliver her second one either. It was a good thing for a man to have a brother, too. The lassies needed protection, but a brother had your back in battle, always. (Though, now that he thought about it, he was rather sure that while Dís had never seen battle, she had Thorin’s back as good as any brother could have done. If not in war, then in politics, he knew as much.) If it hadn’t been for Balin… They had been playing on the slopes of another mountain, of course, when they’d been dwarflings. They, and the two princes that had always been with them, and of which now only one was left, and that one was his king. It was a good thing for a man to have a brother, but the worst to lose one, he knew as much, too.

Dusk had settled upon them by the time they made their way back home. The little prince lay limp and exhausted in Dwalin’s arms this time, almost asleep, tiny face buried in his cloak once more, light eyes slipped shut, golden hair disheveled and wet. He would need a bath, most likely, and something to eat, too; with a little luck, they would find the latter in the kitchens, at least. The cook’s new apprentice, a stout fellow named Bombur, always had something to spare for the hungry, and even more so for the baby prince that was everybody’s pride and joy in Thorin’s Halls. When they returned, though, one of Dís’ court ladies already awaited them. Despite his trust in Oin, Dwalin felt a weight the size of the whole mountain lifted from his shoulders at the smile on her face. “Just in time” she said, “The bairn’s well, and so is the mother. Would you like to see her?”

Dís had given birth not in the healing quarters, but in her own bed, as was befit for a princess. She was pale as the linen of her sheets, with beads of sweat still on her forehead, dark curls framing her face damp as well, but not looking overly unhealthy; in fact, when Dwalin stepped through the door, he saw her smile for the first time in the past year. He felt the little prince stiffen in his arms at the sight of his mother, and the bundle in her arms, even smaller than he was. There was not much to be said, him and Thorin – who looked almost as pale as his sister – exchanging only a brief look as he sat the little prince down on the bed. Dís gave a light snort when she ran a hand over his hair. “Did you take him outside?” she asked, her voice only a slight bit weaker than usual, “Durin’s beard, _kadzunithê_ *, you’ll grow icicles in your beard if we don’t get you to bathe soon…” The little prince grinned a little shyly, but only gave a small shrug before he climbed a little closer to peek down at the newborn in his mother’s arms. There wasn’t much to be seen, of course; only a small tuft of hair – dark, as his mother’s and uncle’s – and the baby’s soft, pink eyelids, closed as the little prince slept after the exhaustions of being born. Fili smiled.

 

They’d laid the baby to sleep in the nursery. Fili knew the way, of course; he slept there himself, only in a different room. Still, after having been bathed and fed, he found no sleep, despite the soft humming voice of his uncle as he’d tucked him in, despite the many new adventures the day had brought. Maybe because of them. But there was something else, too. He’d seen the smile on his mother’s face when they’d entered her bedroom, something that had not been there in… a long time. He did not remember when he’d last seen her smile that way, but it dimly told him the new baby she had (though it didn’t look much, really, all pink and soft and no beard yet) was a good thing. A _very_ good thing. It took great effort to wait until the noise in the hallways had ebbed down and he found a way to sneak out to find his new brother.

He was sleeping, again. Fili did not know much of babies, but apparently they tended to sleep a lot; if they did not, they were a lot more noisy, but even with his mother having spent the day in bed someone had always been there to take care of him – of both of them, really, because Master Dwalin had been there, too. The baby was sleeping in what Fili recognized as his own old crib (old in the matter of that he had a bed of his own now, of course), and that made him difficult to see. Of course, it did not have a name yet. Dwarf babies did not get official names until they reached their second birthday (then referred to as name day, which Fili knew because his fifth had been only a few months ago), because… Oh, that was a bad thing. The dwarfling nibbled his lip. What if anything happened? If his newfound brother vanished, like his father had done, and with him all reasons for his mother to ever smile again? Crib or not, he had to make sure the little thing was fine. He was good at climbing (though nobody must know; his uncle had caught him once, and told him a lot of things about climbing things and possibly falling, and that hadn’t sounded overly good either), and so it was no great difficulty to sneak into his baby brother’s bed. He was indeed asleep, Fili noticed, lying on his back, wrapped in linens and sleeping on a fur to keep him warm. However, when Fili stretched out next to him, the baby moved, rosy eyelids slipping open, and Fili hastily scooted back, in case it did not like his company, heart beating wildly in his chest. It did not cry, though. He frowned a little, carefully coming back a little to keep an eye on him. The baby’s eyes were different, dark in the dimly lit room, not as light as his mother’s and uncle’s were. No, they were dark, like his father’s had been… and now he knew why his mother had smiled. If his baby brother had his father’s eyes, maybe something of him had returned to them? The dwarfling frowned again, overthinking this. That was interesting. He did not remember much of his father, even though he had only been gone for such a short time; there were some things, though. The torchlight that set golden sparks over his hair, or the way he’d braided his moustache, and his mother teasing him about it. Well, and the eyes, golden brown like molten honey, warm and friendly, sometimes with a mischievous glance about it when he’d brought gifts for Fili, or sweets his mother technically had not allowed…

The dwarfling sniffled a bit, rubbing his eyes. The baby had not started to cry yet, so he would not do that either. Instead, he curled up at his baby brother’s side once more. He was _small_ , so small, almost half Fili’s size, and he knew Master Dwalin and his uncle towered above him like giants. _Small_ , and fragile. The baby made a small, whining sound, and Fili, not knowing what else to do, reached out to take one of the small hands into his own. They were a little clammy and sticky, but looked just like his own, too, though they neatly fit into his palms. _Small_ , he noticed once more. Also not two years old yet. Something needed to be done about that.

He knew where his uncle’s study was, too. There were lots of books and old maps, but they did not allow him to play with them; Thorin needed them, he knew as much, though he did not understand what for. They told of people and places long ago, after all, whose names only lived on in memory. Once he’d gotten up the next morning, though, he made his way over to Thorin’s study. He’d managed to sneak out of his brother’s nursery after falling asleep next to him, undiscovered; yet, it would only be a matter of time until someone came looking for him, would it? His uncle was there, of course, working. He always did; Fili seldom remembered seeing him anywhere else but in his study, or at the fireplace in the living quarters, where he held him on his knees and told him stories. Maybe he’d do the same for his brother now, too. The desk was too high for him to climb, and so he went over to his uncle’s chair instead, reaching up to lightly tug his sleeve. Thorin glanced down, frowning only so much. “Now, where’d you come from? Shouldn’t you be with your mother?”

Fili hesitated. They’d asked him many questions, of course, and they needed answering, but the words felt stuck in his throat, as if he’d swallowed too many of them and yet had too few at the same time. There were some that had gathered in his head during the past night, though. Answers could wait. “I want to be a warrior” he said.

Thorin froze in his movements, a piece of parchment still in his hands, blue eyes fixed on the dwarfling. “What?” he asked, his voice sounding strangely hoarse. Maybe he was sick. Fili frowned a little. “I want to be a warrior” he repeated, his voice sounding a little clearer this time, “Like you. I want to protect – the baby. To make Amad** smile.” Thorin stared at him as if Fili had turned into a troll and back right in front of him. The boy nibbled his lip again, unsure of what to do. Had he said something wrong? Had he not found the right words after all? “Please” he added pleadingly, and Thorin moved; Fili flinched only so much at the sudden shift, but Thorin scooped him up, cradling him close as he pressed a kiss to his hair. There was a strange noise in his breathing, making it sound forced and choked, and now Fili was very sure that his uncle indeed was sick (maybe he’d been out playing with the cold white stuff Dwalin had showed him for too long), but Thorin still held him tight and so he didn’t squirm. “I’ll teach you” Thorin finally answered, his voice muffled as he pressed a kiss to Fili’s hair, “I’ll teach you, little one, I promise.”

 

* * *

* my golden boy (young man)  
**Mommy


	2. Dreams

**“Children learn to smile from their parents.”**

_(Shinichi Suzuki)_

 

There was something amiss with Kili.

Of course it was; if anything was amiss with Balin’s students, it was usually about Kili, or his brother, or both (though Thorin suspected that most of the time it was rather Fili taking the blame for something his baby brother had come up with; it was hard to tell, with the two of them being as close as they were). Today, Kili had not appeared in class again; it had caused Balin to seek out Thorin’s study, seeing as it wasn’t the first time to happen. “It’s not that he tends to skip his lessons” the old dwarf said, a smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes as well as beneath his beard, “He wouldn’t be the first dwarfling to prefer to spend his time hunting or working instead of sitting over dusty books and old maps. It’s rather his progress as a whole that’s worrying me.” That was no news either. Kili wasn’t as good as a swordsman as his brother was – only last week Fili’d started to include a second weapon in his training, which in itself was remarkable for a dwarfling of thirty years – but that could have been due to his age. He was restless, though; they all knew it was difficult for the lad to stay in the same place for longer than fifteen minutes (usually much less), or even to sit still for a moment, bursting with energy as he was. It wasn’t as if Kili hadn’t been interested in his studies either; the boy loved stories, maybe even more than his brother, and he loved to learn, to explore and to discover all he could by himself, but the theoretical aspects of many things tended to slip his attention. He had a quick mind, the little one, but unfortunately his temper was even quicker, most of the time.

“I’ll speak to him.” Thorin’s voice was still calm; in fact, Balin reporting back to him about the boys’ progress – and Kili’s lack of attention – happened in about the same words almost every day.

Balin hesitated. “I’m not so sure speaking will help” he then replied a little slower, “He’s behind – far behind, which is unusual even at his age – when it comes to reading and, even more, writing as a whole. He tends to write letters backwards or to mix them up altogether, he has trouble remembering directions or telling his right and left hand apart…” White eyebrows moved like furry caterpillars as Balin frowned only so much. “I believe he might be lefthanded.”

Thorin’s lips tightened only so much. “Do you, then?”

“He wouldn’t be the first in his family, would he?” Balin replied, eyebrows rising just a bit, “The question is, how to deal with it. I can teach him to use his right, and Dwalin will do the same. But…”

“No.” The answer came a little faster than Thorin himself would have thought; still, he shook his head, “I’ll speak to him. Take care of Fili and the others, I’ll send him later.”

Balin gave a nod. “Of course.” He gave a brief smile. “It’s not mine to say, but maybe it’d be wise not to be too harsh on the lad. He’s young, and there’s a fire in his blood that to extinguish would be a shame.”

 

His charcoals were almost gone. Kili frowned, nose wrinkling in displeasure at this. His sketch was only half finished, and he’d have to leave his hideout to get new ones; not to mention the fact that for this, he’d have to give up the sight he had from one of the highest outlooks of his uncle’s halls. Fili loved climbing, but Kili loved high places, from which you could see until every edge of the world, across the vast forests that surrounded their home, and on clear days even all the way to the Lonely Mountain (or at least that was what they liked to imagine).

The current drawing, scribbled onto a piece of parchment on the ground, showed the slopes further up the mountains, though. Covered with grass and the occasional pine tree, he knew there was a stream that led up to a small lake; geese lived there, and sometimes, Thorin would take him and Fili there to hunt. On his drawing, a small herd of mountain goats had occupied the grass, elders and babies alike, with long, fuzzy fur like he’d seen at the few goats they owned. Dwarves did not breed animals, and as such, all of them had been caught in the wilderness, and then tamed and trained to carry wares as well as their owners in battle. Dwalin and Thorin had even allowed him and Fili to ride them once or twice, for training, but for now, they still mostly stuck to ponies. There were more ponies than goats anyway – not that it would’ve mattered. Kili liked them all the same. Animals were cute and fuzzy (some more than others), and it was always fun to play with the few baby goats they had.

There was no help for it; he would have to go try and find some new charcoals. Kili sighed, rising to his feet and turning around, only to find himself face to face with his uncle. His heart skipped a beat, and he immediately made a step backwards again; Thorin’s hand shot up to grab his forearm to keep him from stumbling too close to the edge. There was no anger in his uncle’s face, though, Kili noticed with mild confusion as the elder dwarf let go of him, moving to sit on the ground, back leaned against one of the stone pillars that held the roof.

“Sit down.” Thorin’s voice was calm, but let no room for arguments. Head hanging with the full knowledge of his guilt, Kili gave a light sigh, but obeyed, sitting next to his uncle and making a feeble attempt to hide his sketchings. Too slow, though; Thorin had already moved to reach out for one of them, taking a closer look. There was silence between them, with no noise but the wind, and the occasional sound of a bird flying by.

“These are well done”, Thorin said after a moment, breaking the muteness between them. Kili dared a brief glance back at him, fighting down the surprise.

“Y’think so?” he muttered, quickly focusing back on the ground again, knees drawn up to his chest. He did not have to look up to see the small – rare – smile on his uncle’s face.

“I’m not here to punish you, _nidoyith*_. Though” and he rose a finger at that, “you will not run from your studies again.”

Kili grimaced briefly. His uncle’s voice once more did not allow for any objections, but _still_ … “They’re boring” he muttered defiantly, careful not to look up, “It’s all just family trees and dusty books and…”

“And you don’t like books overmuch.” Thorin’s eyebrows rose only so much.

Kili’s lips tightened, and he quickly turned his head away. “No.” He _didn’t_ like books. Fili did, he knew as much. Fili knew everything. Fili could do everything, Fili never did anything wrong. But of course, Fili was the heir, and so that was how it had to be. Thorin never did anything wrong either, after all.

Thorin watched him quietly again for another moment. “Balin told me you might prefer your left hand” he said then, his voice still calm.

Kili’s head shot up. “He’s lyin’! He can’t know, I’m always usin’ the right, like he said!” he replied hastily – maybe a little too hastily – briefly rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, stained with charcoal as it was. “I _mean_ – I mean, I – I don’t. Oin said, ‘twas bad luck, ‘cause our maker used his righ’, and so…”

“ _Kili._ ”  Thorin’s voice cut through the air, maybe a little sharper than intended; the dwarfling flinched uneasily, glancing back up.

“Yes, uncle?”

Thorin gave a light sigh, rather similar to Kili’s beforehand. “It’s not bad luck” he said, his voice firm and strong as he reached out for one of the small pieces of charcoal, tossing it from one hand to the other as if pondering about something, before shrugging and reaching for the drawing. “May I?”

“Uh, sure” Kili muttered, casting a suspicious glance at his uncle. Truth be told, he had never seen Thorin draw _anything_ before. It didn’t look like much, either. “Is that a tree, uncle?”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at him. “Not any of us can be a master artist, rascal” he muttered under his breath, “It’d look worse if I did it with m’right, though.”

Kili glanced down at Thorin’s hands, understanding slowly dawning within him. “ _Oh._ ”

Thorin handed the parchment back to him, briefly glancing down onto the small piece of charcoal. “You’ll need new ones” he decided then, rising to his feet, “Let’s get you some. And then let’s go find your mother, because dinner must be ready soon.”

Kili nodded quietly, collecting his works before rising to his feet as well. Thorin frowned, however, when his eyes fell upon the last one. “What’s that?”

Kili cleared his throat, hastily folding them up. “Uh – nothing?” he said, rather carefully, though Thorin’s sceptical glance quickly swept away what little resistance he’d put up. Dutifully, he handed over the parchment. “Nothin’, like I said” he muttered.

It was not the goat picture, but another one, the one that had used up most of his charcoal. It showed trees – huge trees, standing close enough to not let any light through, with black leaves and webs spun between them; webs of a size that none of the small, barely palm sized spiders of the Blue Mountains could have woven them, but instead their much larger sisters from the dark forest, visible only through dim eyes glowering out of the shadows, lurking and hiding – hiding from the others, the tall, slim people that stood between the trees, equipped with bows and knives ready to strike, hair flowing in the what little wind went through the branches. Thorin stared at the picture for a brief moment before turning back at Kili quick enough to make the boy flinch again. “Why’d you draw this?”

Kili stared up at him in utter confusion. “I – I dunno? It just – I mean – I had a – a bad dream last night – and I thought – I’m sorry…?”

Thorin’s eyebrows twitched only so lightly. “A _dream_?” he said, exhaling slowly enough so that Kili could almost see the gears working behind his forehead. “You dreamed this, you mean.”

Kili nodded almost shyly. “I’ll try not to dream of it anymore?” he answered rather carefully, tilting his head only so much.

Thorin shot him another look, one whose meaning was hard to judge. “Dreams aren’t a problem, Kili” he said then, softly, “I’ll keep that, if you don’t mind. Tell me if you have more of these bad dreams, yes?” Giving the boy a gentle pat on the back, he followed him back to the spiral staircase that led them down into the mountain again.

 

_Bad dreams._

Kili’s words still spun through Thorin’s head, long after the day had turned into night.

_Bad dreams._

It made sleeping difficult, too.

_Bad dreams._

Kili had never seen elves before, he knew as much (and would take care to have it stay that way for as long as possible). The boy had also never heard of the spiders that roamed the depths of Mirkwood; he was careful to choose which stories they were told, to not cause them any further nightmares.

_Bad dreams…_

“Brother?”

It was Dís’ voice that snapped him out of his thoughts, staring blankly into the fireplace, turning his pipe over in his hands without lighting it in the first place. She wore her night gown already, white fabric and only the dark blue cloak over her shoulders for warmth as she came closer on bare feet. With her features lighted up by the fire, it made her skin seem made of gold and bronze, her hair, so much like his own and Kili’s, black as midnight, neatly braided and clasped with silver. She sat down in the other armchair by the fire, briefly glancing over him from head to toe, blue eyes darkening a little.

“Well?”

There were no further words necessary. If anyone had ever been able to take Frerin’s place – nobody had ever been able to take Frerin’s place, but Dís had learned through practice what their long lost brother had been able to do through the mental connection he and Thorin had shared. (Besides, or so Thorin had to admit at least, it likely wasn’t that difficult to see that something troubled him.)

“I believe our Maker has bestowed a gift upon your son” Thorin replied calmly, “On Kili, I mean. He made this.”

He handed over the sketching he’d collected from the boy this afternoon; Dís’ eyes wandered over it, elegant brows creasing in a small frown.

“He said, he had a dream that showed him this” Thorin went on, eyes focused on his sister’s face, searching for a reaction, “Well?”

Dís glanced back at him with a small smirk. “He didn’t hear anythin’ from me about giant spiders and elves, brother dear, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“I didn’t expect him to.” Thorin returned the smirk, though a little softer. “I told him to tell me if there’s any more _bad dreams_ like these.”

“Any more dreams of what?” Dís asked, one eyebrow raised, “Elves killing spiders? Do you count this as my baby boy having _meaningful dreams_ of a sort? You’re not planning on dragging them along to this place, are you?”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at her. “I’d rather chop off my own foot than get them remotely near this forest” he replied harshly, “How’d you call it, then? The boy seeing things he can’t know they _exist_?”

“I call it a child having a bad dream” Dís replied softly, handing the parchment back to Thorin, “after a stressful day, maybe. We’ve all had those. You should know.”

Thorin’s lips tightened only so much as he tucked the parchment back beneath his coat. “I don’t know” he answered, shoulders sagging a bit and still hoping he did not look as tired as he suddenly felt, “I’m not sure, that’s all I know. Speaking of Kili – he may be lefthanded. I told Balin and Dwalin to allow him t’use his left hand in training, and during their lessons.”

Dís gave a small smile, seeming rather tired herself, though she reached out and briefly touched her brother’s hand. “You’re doing well with the boys” she said, her voice still soft, “They adore you, and I’m grateful for that. Now, go to sleep, will you? You look like you could use it.”

 

_Spoke to Balin and Dwalin about Kili._

_Spoke to Dís about Kili’s dreams._

Sleep did not come easy this night for Thorin – it never did, actually, and as such, he’d already developed the necessary rituals to help him fall asleep anyway. It had helped, or so he he’d found out, to focus his thoughts on the day past, going through it as precisely as possible, to make sure everything was in order.

_Spoke to Kili about missing his lessons._

_Signed trade agreements with the men of Dunland._

His eyelids slipped shut, finally.

_Took Fili to the forge…_

Someone – _something_ – touched his shoulder.

He jerked awake, the blade from beneath his pillow sliding out with the audible noise of metal on the grindstone sewn into the scabbard. Kili made a small, squeaking noise, his face a light spot in the dark room, brown eyes wide with fear as he stared at him. “W-Why do you keep a knife under your pillow, uncle?”

Thorin stared at him for a second, and then another one. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, breath coming in short gasps; it took another moment until he slowly lowered the blade again.

“Don’t do this again, boy.”

His voice sounded strangely hoarse to his own ears; he cleared his throat, only then realizing he still held the blade, and Kili still stared at him in sheer terror. Slowly, he put the knife back where it belonged, sitting down on the side of the bed and taking a deep breath, calming himself with some effort. It barely worked, but it made sure his brain started to function again.

“Come here.” He extended a hand to the boy, briefly holding up his palms to make sure the lad saw there was no other weapon. “C’mere, _nidoyithe**_. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, c’me here.”

Slowly, Kili came closer, naked feet padding on the floor. “I…” The boy was still shaking, as Thorin noticed, with dark smudges under his eyes, nose running as he made a tiny sound like a sob, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I – I had a bad dream, uncle. Y-Y’said to tell you, s-so – so I came…”

“I know.” Thorin took another deep breath, pulling the shivering boy into his arms and briefly nuzzling dark hair as he pressed a kiss to his head, gently rocking him back and forth. “It’s fine. It’s fine, my boy, I’m here, you are safe. Tell me what you’ve seen, though. Tell me, I won’t be angry, I promise.”

Kili nodded, a small, abrupt movement against Thorin’s chest, snivelling, bony shoulders twitching beneath light sobs. He was slim, Thorin noted, too slim for his age, actually, and a bit taller. But then again, Kili had never been overly much like the average dwarf.

“I – I was outside with Fee” the boy muttered finally, his voice barely audible from where his head was pressed into Thorin’s shirt, “I mean – not outside. It was all dark, an’ scary. Some tunnel, I dunno.”

 _Tunnel, dark and scary._ Thorin felt his brain immediately going through the many dangers the lower tunnels held, for dwarflings especially. “What else?” he asked, gently rubbing the boy’s back.

Kili took another small breath, snivelling into his sleeve once more. “Dark an’ scary” he repeated quietly, “But – but there was light, too. Flickerin’, like torchlight, I mean. Fee was – Fee was scared, too, but – but he wouldn’t say. Never says, he – he’s busy bein’ – princely and all that…” Breathing rather shakily, he wrapped his arms around Thorin’s chest, squeezing tight. “Then he – he w-was gone, and – and I couldn’t – I h-heard the – the drums and – t-the noise – I _h-h-h-_ heard him scream, uncle, and I couldn’t do anythin’…”

The boy was sobbing helplessly, Thorin’s hands warm on his back, while he himself felt ice cubes slide down his spine. _Drums in the tunnels? What tunnels?_ He knew, of course, what Kili did not; what Kili couldn’t know. He’d never heard that before. He couldn’t possibly…

“Kili” Thorin said quietly, “Kili, listen to me.” The boy glanced up at him, face smeared with tears. Thorin wiped them away. “I would never let anyone hurt you” he said, his voice still soft, but firm as he held the boy’s shoulders, child bones suddenly feeling overly small and fragile against his palms, “ _Never._ Do you hear me? I would never allow anything to happen to you or your brother, I _promise_ you that. I would protect you with the last breath in my lungs, and the last drop of blood in my veins.” Gently cupping the boy’s face with his hands, he pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I promise, my brave little boy. But I want you to promise me something in return, aye?”

Kili nodded, snivelling once more. “What, uncle?” he muttered.

Thorin briefly nudged his chin up to make sure the boy looked at him. “I want you to promise me that you and your brother will stay away from the mining tunnels unless me or Dwalin are with you. No adventuring there, aye? Promise me.” _The mining tunnels._ It was the only possible solution; their family knew, better than likely any of the other dwarf tribes, what things could lurk in the dark if anyone dared delve too deep. Drums and flames, indeed. The memory made his stomach churn.

Kili nodded again, rather obediently. “I promise” he whispered.

Thorin gave a small smile. “If you give a promise, you’ve got to keep it. Remember that, will you?”

Kili nodded a third time, cuddling close. “Can I stay with you?” he muttered.

Thorin briefly glanced down at him, suddenly feeling distinctly lighthearted at the boy’s question, while at the same time seeing his chances of only a few precious hours of sleep vanish into nothing. “Of course” he said anyway.

It did not take long until footsteps of another dwarfling were to be heard across the hallway.

 

* * *

*man/boy that is young; little boy  
**(my) little boy


	3. Of Princes and Promises

**“Sometimes, being a brother is even better than being a superhero.”**

_(Marc Brown)_

 

“Feewee. I’m awake.”

His brother’s voice was overly prominent, even though at least three quarters of his brain were still asleep. The world around him, though, was still warm and cozy; Fili huffed drowsily, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow.

“Feewee…”

Kili’s voice followed him. Clumsily, he reached for the blanket in a try to pull it over his head which only worked halfway, but at least it dimmed his brother’s voice a bit more. Sleep returned quickly, and Fili greeted it with open arms.

The next thing he noticed was sudden cold, and as he failed to show the desired reaction, something hot and slick and  _very wet_  being shoved into his right ear. With a screech and a rather violent jerk, he shot up, glaring at the wee fiend sitting at arm’s length in front of him, snickering madly and grinning like an imp with  _his tongue_  still half out of his mouth, and-

Fili used the sudden movement to his advantage as he lunged himself at his brother, them both rolling across the bed (across something warm, that moved with a rather indignant sound and showed to be their uncle) and Fili’s hands finding their way beneath his brother’s nightshirt to tickle mercilessly as his brother squirmed and shrieked and gasped for breath, and squirmed some more, and they both fell out of bed and onto the stone floor in a tangled mass of limbs and fabric. His baby brother was indeed almost Fili’s size by now (not fair, he noted somewhere in the back of his head; Kili was  _his_  and  _his baby brother_ , he was supposed to stay little!), but also scrawny as a colt, and Fili quickly grabbed his brother’s wrists with one hand to pin him down. “Fee!” The dwarfling squirmed and snickered, grinning at him with eyes like molten honey and summer sun, and Fili narrowed his eyes at him.

“Surrender!” he demanded, his free hand poking his brother’s ribs again and again, sending the younger one into another shower of giggles and squirming, narrowly avoiding his brother’s kicking feet and placing a knee on his chest to keep him down, nose to nose with his brother’s face, red from laughter and breathlessness.

“Never!” the boy managed to get out as he made another try to kick him, “Durin’s house never surrenders!”

“Now that Durin’s house is awake” a deeper voice muttered from the bed, still partially drowsy with sleep, “I would approve of you neither breaking furniture nor bones. Get dressed and get yourself some breakfast.”

“I win!” Kili broke free from his brother’s grip, unceremoniously shoving him aside and speeding out of the room.

Fili sank back against the bed, rubbing his ear and grimacing, still breathing heavily. “Are all younger siblings like that, uncle?” he asked, only now realizing how  _tired_  he still was.

“Yes,” came the answer immediately from above, though silence followed, and Fili knew he’d asked the wrong question. Rubbing his ear once more, he fought back the sudden feeling of guilt that overcame him at the thought of his uncle – not Thorin, but the  _other_ , the one they did never speak of unless at the memorial day before Yule – the one who had been  _Thorin’s_  Kili. Must have been, because his uncle had just said that younger siblings were all the same. Nobody would ever wake his uncle again with his tongue and tickles and laughter. Fili rubbed the bridge of his nose, rising to his feet and following his brother outside, if a great deal slower.

 

Temperatures inside Thorin’s Halls were usually stable considering they lived inside a mountain, and warmer still in the royal quarters. It was due to a complicated system of pipes that ran inside the walls, Fili knew as much; using the steam and hot air that came from the forges deep below in the mountain’s belly to heat their rooms from ceiling to the flooring, making it pleasantly warm to walk on even with bare feet (such as he had right now), heating the water they used for washing (bathing was for the hot springs, though, and Fili loved it), and cooking, too. There were sources of hot water all over the town, Fili knew as much, too, but the royal quarters and the palace area were special. The water was special, too. It didn’t come from a river or lake, but directly out of the mountain, and yet, its invisible spring never seemed to run dry, like the sky never seemed to run out of rain. Fili and his brother had tried to find the source more than once, but all their search did was lead them into the lower tunnels, and further down, and now Thorin had forbidden to go there.  _Too dangerous_ , he said. (Dangerous, of course, made it only ever more attractive, but Kili didn’t like the tunnels either, so Fili had reluctantly promised to stay away from them. And promises were made to be kept, after all.) Heat or not, though, Dwalin’s coat was still half covered in barely molten snow as Fili saw when he entered the kitchens after hastily putting on a new tunic and trousers.

“Take that off” Dís commanded the moment Fili stepped into the room, his precious baby brother on his heels, “The girls will have a hard time cleanin’ the ground as it is!” Dwalin made a grunting sound – considering his mouth was full of bannocks, and probably some of the meat on the table in front of him, too – as he brushed off his coat to allow Dís to dry it at one of the fires. Kili, however, dashed past his brother with a squeaky “Mister Dwalin!” as soon as he spotted the elder dwarf, climbing next to him onto the bench like a cat and grinning broadly, “You’re back! D’ye have new stories to tell?”

Fili gave a brief smile, following his brother a little slower – it was unsuitable for an  _almost grownup_  dwarf to run around like a dwarfling, after all, and he was  _thirty four_ , only sixteen more years until he’d become of age, not to mention princely behavior – as he sat down himself. His mother had taken care of the food, of course. His mother was the best cook there was, with Bombur being close second though; still, Fili briefly grimaced at the spoonful of porridge on one of the dishes.  _Porridge._  The only thing his mother  _couldn’t_  make tasty, no matter what.

Luckily, she knew, and as such there was no porridge on his own plate. Fresh bannocks instead, bacon and eggs, like on Dwalin’s, even though Kili immediately let go of his companion to lunge himself at his brother instead. “Breakfast!” he exclaimed, quickly grabbing one of the bannocks and seemlingy starting to chew before it even reached his mouth.

Fili narrowed his eyes at him briefly again, but then – he’d never been overly well at fierce expressions, and he’d also long since come to terms with that his stuff was technically only his if Kili didn’t want it. So instead of glaring at his brother, who seemed to be joy personified this morning, he wrapped an arm around his waist and dragged him close before reaching for his food with his own free hand. Kili snuggled against him rather happily, his own bare toes wiggling on the bench.

“Can y’go huntin’ wi’us, Mis’er Dwalin?” he asked, his mouth still half filled with breakfast, “Unc’e said he’d go huntin’ wi’us and sho’us all the new thin’s! Di’ye s _h_ ee anythin’ neat on th’road?”

Dwalin swallowed, briefly reaching out to ruffle Kili’s hair, unruly and peeking into every direction anyway as it was. “Aye, laddie” he answered then, “I have some stories t’tell. It’ll have to wait ‘til this evenin’, though, because me and your uncle have things to discuss.” He and Dís exchanged one of these grown-ups-know-better looks Fili knew overly well, and he huffed slightly. Thirty four years or not, it seemed it’d still take a while until grownups would tell him what they thought.

Dís’ expression changed into a smile, though, as she briefly placed a hand on Fili’s shoulder before turning over to fill another plate. “I’ll bring these up for Thorin” she noted, “Maybe y’best come along, huh?” The grin on her face widened into a surprising similarity to her youngest. “Wouldna want t’risk comin’ back down here an’ all the food is gone wi’ the three of you alone…”

Dwalin gave a brief snort, but he rose to his feet nonetheless as he followed her outside, the two of them still exchanging lovingly insults by the time they vanished up the stairs.

Kili huffed, slumping against his brother a little more. “I’d rather go  _huntin’_ ” he muttered, “What’s he gonna discuss wi’uncle except for  _boring_  things?”

“Royal things” Fili replied, swallowing the last bit of meat before turning a bit more to wrap both arms around his brother, nuzzling dark hair for a brief moment, “B’sides, Balin will be expectin’ us…”

Kili huffed some more before turning quiet for a moment. (It was usually this quietness that made Fili feel uneasy; it meant that his brother’s brain had come up with an idea – usually one that got them in trouble.) “If it’s royal matters, y’should know about it” he said then, “Ye’re the crown prince.”

“Not  _yet_ ” Fili retorted quickly, “I’m no’ of age. When I’m fifty, uncle will make it official, but…”

“Well, ye’re future crown prince” Kili replied, smiling innocently, “Maybe we can be sneaky and find out what they’re talking about.”

“If uncle  _wanted_  me to be there, he’d have said it” Fili answered, “Besides-”

Kili had already squirmed out of his arms, though, shooting him a heartwarming grin from across the table. “Please, Feewee! Uncle always said we’re supposed to learn how to be sneaky!”

Fili gave a sigh and rose to his feet.

 

Being sneaky was not precisely easy, with all the guards and their mother’s servant girls and boys peeking around every corner. Neither was it overly easy to keep Kili’s attention focused on the task at hand.

“Your hair is all messy” Fili heard the younger one mutter behind his back, and it took mere seconds before he felt stubby fingers slide through golden strands as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes considering he was just peeking around a corner, eyes fixed on two servant girls that were busy cleaning out the hallway whilst chattering, about girly things, most likely.  _Girls._  Fili’s nose wrinkled in distaste. Girls were all chittering laughter and wavy dresses. Girls needed to be protected, Dwalin had told him, because girls were precious and few, but his brother would have his back in battle, always. A light tug on one of his braids made him flinch, and he made an attempt to peek back at his brother.

“What are you  _doing_?”

“Braiding your hair” Kili replied promptly, “It’s all messy…”

Fili grit his teeth. Apparently his brother was all scatterbrains again today. “I thought you wanted to spy on Uncle’s and Dwalin’s conversation.”

“I want  _you_  to spy on them” Kili answered gleefully, “Y’re the crown prince, y’ve got this. You go first.”

Fili bit back a remark about how all of this had been his brother’s idea in the first place – not while Kili’s hands were still in his hair. His sweet baby brother was better at braiding, always had been (except for when his  _own_  hair was concerned), and sometimes it seemed the only few precious moments in which it was possible to get him to sit still. He gave a sigh.

“Alright” he muttered, “The door is closed, aye? And people would notice if we were eavesdropping at the door…”

“Y’could always try the windows, aye?”

Fili flinched, jerking rather violently which caused Kili to whine and a sharp pang of pain to shoot through his scalp at the sudden tug, blue eyes narrowing at the other two dwarflings.

“What are  _you_  doing here?”

Nori grinned at him, a good deal more innocent than Kili had managed before, if only to disguise the fact that the pockets of his coat seemed a good deal more bulky than they should have been. “Nothin’, yer majesty. Jus’ checkin’ if yer  _amad_  made those lovely cookies again, hmm… an’ baby sittin’, jus’ like yer majesty” he added, nudging his own younger brother who was shifting uneasily besides him, treading from one foot to the other.

“I’d really rather go see Balin in the library…” Ori muttered, but his words were quickly drowned out by Kili.

“I’m  _no_ ’ a baby,  _you’re_  a baby, an’ you’re stealin’ our cookies, an’-“

“Be quiet!” Fili hissed, who’d noticed the guards attention to shift towards the rabble in their hideout, though he huffed himself and crossed his arms. “Dinna sneak up on me, rock head! I’m your prince!”

“No’ yet” Nori pointed out, “Also, ye just tried t’eavesdrop on yer uncle’s private conversations, I dinna think that’s countin’ as royal behavior! Ye dinna even know how t’get into his room!”

“We gonna figure it out!” Kili hissed before Fili managed to answer, “Fee knows everything!”

Fili took a deep breath, resisting the urge to smack his brother. “We were about to figure that out” he replied as formally as possible, “As crown prince, I am supposed to think strategically, as you well know.”

Nori’s eyebrows rose a bit. “Oh? Aye, let’s see. What’ve y’been figurin’ out, master strategist crown prince?”

Fili narrowed his eyes at the other dwarfling a bit more, trying his fiercest expression. He’d never been good at those, though – Kili was, however, and he was glaring at Nori as best as he managed to look threatening with no beard and the general outlet of a spoilt puppy. There was also the fact that Nori was a good fifteen years older, and as such taller than him as well, which probably made his expression even less threatening. Strategies, he wanted?

“Well…” he said, pondering about it for a moment, “The guards could be distracted, I guess. But Mister Dwalin is in there with m’uncle, and he’s the guard captain, so they’ll want to do their duty. So, the door is blocked. But if there was another way in…”

His eyes swept along the hallway and settled on one of the many windows that had been cut into the stone, from above his waist height up until the very ceiling, hidden in the shadows as it was. Dwarves liked their halls, but they had also mastered the art of pillars and arches. His own grandfather – from his father’s side – had been a stone cutter, Fili knew as much; here as well as in Erebor, in a past life. “If one’s foolish, one could climb out of the window, and all the way outside to uncle’s study, to listen beneath the window” he went on, rubbing his chin and with pride noticing the golden stubble on it, not for the first time.

Kili’s eyes widened. “You’re the best climber there is!”, he whispered.

Fili glanced back at his brother. True, they’d climbed lots of things together – the stable roofs, the cliffs outside, the high-peaked towers, like the mountain goats, their mother had said once. She didn’t like the climbing. Casting a last, careful glance back to the two servant girls, he ducked his head, making his way over to the windows with only a few swift steps, and glancing out. It wasn’t  _really_  that deep of a fall, he noticed, swallowing. Fourty feet, maybe, until the next roof. The towers were a good deal higher.

Nori behind him huffed lightly. “Y’scared now, crown prince?”

“He’s no’ scared!” Kili hissed, followed by a soft  _thud_  and Nori whining, indicating his brother had kicked him, “He’s the bravest dwarf!”

Fili bit his lower lip, but pulled himself up to sit on the window sill. “I’ll do it. But  _be quiet_!”

 

As smooth as dwarven halls were from the inside, the outsides of their hallways and pillars tended to be a good deal rougher – less easy to reach, Fili assumed. Then again, he didn’t know much about stone cutting except the some things Balin had told them – ages ago as it seemd – and he himself preferred metal to work with, whereas Kili hadn’t decided anything for himself yet.

Rough was good, though, because it left room for his hands and feet.

Very much aware of the three dwarfling faces peeking out of the window as he carefully, and very slowly, set his hands first, and then his feet, Fili focused on the feeling of stone against his skin, the dark of black marble right in front of his face, and the calm that great heights had always brought to him. Maybe that was why ravens were holy to Durin’s folk; because they understood just that, and had wings to fly even higher if they wanted.

 _Focus_ , he reminded himself.  _Never let go of more than one limb at once._

He didn’t.

He also forced himself not to look down.

He was a prince of Durin’s house, and princes weren’t afraid, after all.

Still, he paused for a moment, swallowing before his left hand let go to search for a better hold.

It was also the moment he slipped.

He screamed – or maybe it was Kili’s voice – his ears were ringing, hands and feet scrambling on the rock –  _catching hold-_

His lungs were burning, hot tears overly prominent on his cheeks as he pressed himself against the rock. The ledge that had saved him was barely wide enough for his feet to find room; his palms were cut and raw from scratching. He fought back a sob. Princes didn’t cry.

“Fee!”

His brother’s voice was squeaky and shrill with fear, and Fili wanted nothing more than to turn his head up and tell him it would be alright,  _everything would be alright_ , but he couldn’t move, every bone and muscle in his body suddenly seeming to have given up their task, except for those in his fingers that held him clinging to the rocks, not daring to move at all. Voices were fluttering through the air like the birds he’d just thought of. The air around him felt icy. His fingertips hurt, every muscle in his body strained and tensed.

_How far down?_

He didn’t dare to look either, cheek pressed against the darkness, eyelids clamped shut.

_Thirty feet? More?_

Somewhere, he could hear a faint, whimpering noise, feeling sudden guilt wallow up inside him as he noticed it came from his own throat.

“ _Fili!_ ”

It was his uncle’s voice, though from somewhere beneath him. His tone was low, almost detached; it had been very rare occasions on which Fili had heard his uncle speak like that. Kili had called it his  _king voice_. It demanded complete obedience and left no room for resistance.

“ _Look at me._ ”

His eyelids cracked open as he slowly, very slowly managed to turn his head, eyes fixed on the tall, dark haired figure on the roof beneath him, Dwalin beside him, the tattooings on his bald head visible even from up here.

_Thirty feet._

Fili swallowed convulsively, but he did not dare turn away. His feet had found some hold on what seemed one of the many ledges for bypassing ravens to rest. The stone beneath it was smooth, though; it left little room to climb down, let alone allow a grown dwarf to climb upwards.

He saw his uncle and Dwalin exchange a brief look, barely noticeable, and suddenly, the cold seemed to spread through his arms down to his chest. He knew what Thorin was about to say even before his uncle opened his mouth.

“I want you to jump, Fili.” Thorin’s voice was clear, but free of every emotion; it was the first time Fili noticed that his uncle’s eyes were the same like his mother’s.

He shook his head in a jerky, stiff motion. “I can’t.” His voice was a bare rasp in the back of his throat, barely audible, but Thorin seemed to understand nonetheless.

“You can” he replied, his voice still calm. No room for resistance indeed. “You can, and I’ll catch you, Fili, I promise. I want you to let go now.”

Fili opened his mouth and shut it again, lower lip quivering only so much. “I can’t-“

“You can.” There was a bare hint of sharpness in his uncle’s voice, betraying his calm demeanor. “I’ll count to three.”

Fili’s eyelids clamped shut again as he dug his fingernails against the rock.

There was a bitter taste on his tongue, mingled with metal. Had he bit his lip?

He jumped.

The next thing he remembered was his uncle’s arms around him, safe and strong, his face buried in rough linen and the smell of leather and molten steel and home in his nose as he clung to his uncle as much as he’d clung to the rock before, every muscle in his body shaking, crying and trembling in a rather unprincely way, Thorin’s arms tight enough around him as if to press the air out of his lungs as he felt his uncle press a kiss to his head and another one, and suddenly Fili didn’t know whether the shaking came from him or Thorin himself.

His uncle pushed him away at arm’s length, though, glaring at him from blue eyes. “What were you thinking?!” His voice was a low bark, now with fury instead of royalty. “You could’ve died! What in the name of Durin possessed you do to such a foolish thing?!”

Fili sniveled, barely able to contain himself. “I – I’m sorry, uncle – I only wanted-“ Hiccupping, he made a hapless try to clean his face with his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to – I’m  _sorry_ …”

Thorin shifted and Fili almost flinched at the movement, but Thorin crushed him back against his chest, holding him close, one hand in his hair. “Don’t do that to me again, inudoyê _*_ ,” he said, then, his voice surprisingly quiet as he looked Fili in the eyes once more, “Promise.”

Fili sniveled again, managing to wipe his nose with his sleeve this time. “I promise, uncle” he whispered.

 

* * *

*my son


	4. Déjà Vu

**“Each time you say hello to a stranger, your heart acknowledges over and over again that we are all family.”**  

 _(_ _Suzy Kassem_ _)_

Fili would always claim to remember the evening his brother had been born, even if it wasn’t true. He did remember some parts, though; mostly at night, with Kili curled up against him or sprawled out atop him like a kitten falling asleep, because he’d always slept in his brother’s bed from that night on, and couldn’t imagine it any other way. It had always been a nightmare getting his sweet baby brother to sleep, all flimsy and jumpy and curious as he was, even as a newborn, but in Fili’s arms, he’d always slept safe and sound.

Fili remembered, too, the moment he’d first seen his baby brother, and Kili’s eyes, soft and golden brown like molten honey, darker when he was tired, or glinting with mischief. It was those eyes that followed him into his dreams that night, trusting and warm, the gentle curve of his lips, and the line of his brother’s jaw, still beardless at the age of 44, all smooth skin and his neck pulsing with life at the soft spot right beneath his ear. There was that smile on his brother’s face, too, sweet like sunshine, the mischievous curl in the corners of his mouth as he leaned forward, close enough that Fili could taste the scent of his skin as he whispered _I want your mouth_ , soft lips closing over his own, and Fili woke, panting and sweating and with fire curling through his belly, the fingers of one hand curled into the damp sheets of his bed, sparks glittering and spiraling through his head, his brother’s weight pressing him into the mattress.

Kili was still asleep, of course, every possible limp tangled around his brother tight enough that he’d probably lose circulation in his feet come morning – tight enough that Fili felt overly aware of every inch of skin pressing against his own even through both their nightshirts, of Kili’s soft breathing and the shift of his brother’s muscles as Fili made a careful attempt to untangle himself. Kili muttered something under his breath but did not wake as he slid next to his brother onto the sheets, Fili taking a deep breath, eyes briefly pressing shut as his hand slipped beneath his own nightshirt.

“Fee?”

His brother’s voice, drowsy from sleep, let him freeze before he slowly, very slowly, shifted into a more innocent position, wrapping his arms around his baby brother once more. “Sleep” he muttered into dark hair as Kili shifted to crawl atop of him once more, his baby brother making a soft, content sound like a sleepy kitten.

He lay still for maybe a total of thirty seconds.

“Fee?”

His voice sounded _awfully_ awake, and Fili gave a small sigh, shifting a bit beneath him (though avoiding as best as he could to move his hips). “Yes, nadadith*?”

Kili snickered, propping his head up to place his chin on Fili’s chest, golden eyes half hidden beneath a tangle of dark hair. “Why’re we always sleepin’ in yer bed, Feewee?” he asked, head tilting curiously.

Fili blinked once or twice, slowly trying to push back the last veils of tiredness (and the flames in his loins, too – Kili pressing himself against him did not necessarily help with that. He decided to ignore it.) as he ran a hand through his own hair. “I, uh… I thought… don’t you _want_ to sleep in the same bed like me anymore?” The mere thought left an uncomfortable sting somewhere in his chest, but luckily, Kili shook his head immediately.

“I mean _your_ bed” he replied, and Fili felt sudden relief (and a bit of guilt at the realization how _much_ relief it actually was) surge through him.

“Oh. Uh… I guess it’s because I’ve been sleepin’ in your bed a lot when you were little. Like, really little. Only t’was somewhat uncomfortable, ‘cause your cradle wasn’t made for my size, and…” He fought back a yawn. “…and so Amad said y’might as well sleep in my bed if I took – took care of you?”

“Hmm.” Kili tilted his head a bit again, the expression on his face once again overly familiar to his bro – it meant there were about a dozen of additional questions coming up. Mentally, Fili said goodbye to sleep. But then again, it was probably for the better if his mind did not get another chance to conjure up any further dreams.

 

 _Sleep_ had never been something that came easy to Kili. In fact, he did not remember a single night in his life where he’d have _liked_ to go to sleep. It seemed he was never tired at all, all the gears in his head constantly turning and twisting and running wild in search of something new, something exciting, something to discover and explore, and his body was all too eager to follow. During the day, the urge was strong enough to keep him from sitting still longer than was absolutely necessary, his legs in constant motion beneath the table as much as his hands, considering dwarven speech unsually involved not just the talking of lips and tongue, but the same gesturing and motioning in the _Iglishmêk_ language all the same. On some days, he felt like he was bursting with energy, always moving and talking a tad faster than anyone in his direct vicinity, his thoughts jumping everywhere but onto the task at hand.

On some days, he woke his brother with tickles and quiet giggling. On others, by jumping onto the bed and stealing away their mutual blanket. “Wake up, Fee!” The mattress bent lightly under Kili’s weight and he shifted to keep his balance, briefly holding to one of the heavy dark curtains hanging from the four pillars around the bed, used to trap the warmth inside at night. The blond haired figure of his brother made a small, huffing sound, not moving very much at all. Kili briefly narrowed his eyes at him, crawling further unto the bed and lightly tugging the sleeve of his brother’s nightshirt. “Wake _up_!” he demanded, “Amad said we’d be goin’ to the market with her today!”

Of course, there were several markets in Thorin’s Halls, here and there on the different levels of the city. The _special_ one was outside, though – it was the most interesting one, in Kili’s opinion, because it was not just dwarves offering their wares here. Balin had explained to them – the memory was clear as day in Kili’s mind, even though it must have been years ago – that it was custom for travelers, traders and hunters and travelling people all alike, to set up camp either before the gates of a dwarven city, or in the direct vicinity of its entrance. Few people that weren’t dwarvish enjoyed staying inside a mountain, though, and even fewer dwarves enjoyed strangers inside their home, and as such, sooner or later small groups of buildings started to form in front of the gates – taverns, inns, stables, built by both humans and dwarves, to serve as lodgings for their guests, and to attract even more traders. Sometimes, so Balin had told them further, this was how whole cities populated by humans came to lie just in front of the gates of a dwarven king’s halls, as had happened in case of the city of Dale, nowadays laid to waste by the dragon Smaug. Here it was where most of the trading with other people of Middle Earth took place, and it was the most exciting place for adventurous young dwarves. Fili, however, seemed entirely unimpressed by the promise of a day of exploring foreign wares, tasting sweets from the other edge of Arda, and helping their mother to go about her weekly business with said traders. He rolled over on his back, blue eyes firmly clamped shut, blond hair spread out on the pillow like the mane of one of the giant cats Balin had once showed them a picture of.

The thought made Kili snicker again. “Fee!” Deciding it was time to tighten measures, he flopped face down across his brother’s chest, causing the elder to gasp for air and his eyes to fly open immediately as he squirmed beneath Kili’s weight.

“How can you be so heavy when you’re that scrawny?” Fili huffed, unceremoniously shoving him off as he finally straightened himself up, causing Kili to roll over and prop his chin up in his hands as he watched his brother slide out of bed, clumsy like a cave bear after hibernation. No, the lion comparison suited much better, though, Kili decided, straightening himself up and watching his brother get dressed before sitting back down on the bed to allow Kili to take care of his hair.

 _Fili’s hair_ was something that always got him to sit still for a moment, at least. It was one of the few moments in which he managed to focus completely on the silken feeling of golden strands between his fingers, the warmth of his brother’s body so close to him, and the familiar scent of his skin that had possessed the strange ability to calm him entirely, as far as he could remember.

With Fili’s hair well braided and silver clasps used to keep his braids closed – few as it were with neither of them of age yet – they made their way down to a rather hasty breakfast in the kitchens. Their mother always rose at dawn herself, along with the servants and their uncle, though Thorin was not present when they entered. While it was their mother’s duty to make sure their stocks were well supplied, it was their uncle’s job to deal with new trade agreements, while Dwalin and Balin spoke to the traders themselves, inquiring about the safety of the roads and any other troubles men or dwarves might have encountered during their journey. Most people knew Dis, of course; still, she wore her usual clothes consisting of buckskin trousers and stout boots, the shirt beneath her fur lined vest covered with the same fine embroidery like her sons‘. She had done it herself, Kili knew as much. No matter what trouble their sons got on, or how much other work she had to deal with, Dis always took the time to take care of her sons‘ clothes herself, and Thorin’s, too, whether it was holes to be mended, embroidery to be done or repaired, or a new shirt to be sewn. Considering her skill lay in jewellery making and the carving of stones, she was not able to provide her family with weapons or chainmail; as such, she had found a different way to leave her fingerprints on their clothings, a mother’s touch that Kili occasionally imagined to feel on his skin just as much.

Flopping onto the stone bench next to his brother, he was barely seated when he began to shift again, willing to bounce up and down in excitement. “Is Gloin going to be there today?“ he asked between a mouthful of bannocks. Oin’s younger brother had gained some money with his tradings after all, as he knew from when Thorin had made him and Fili sit through the council meetings – Fili rather than his younger brother, though Kili usually refused to stay behind. Life was dull without Fili.

“I would hope so,” Dis replied with a smile that seemed almost secretive, and Kili tilted his head in curiosity, but she turned away to deal with the day’s preparations before he could ask any further.

 

Winter had come surprisingly quickly this year, with thick layers of snow covering the statues outside the Halls, turning their beards and helmets white. The fur coats of the guards they passed were equally colored, ice and snow flakes melting together in the dark hair, making it hard to distinguish where the fur stopped and their beards began. Kili followed tightly after his mother and brother as they passed through the gates, huge doors made of steel and adorned with copper that almost looked like larger versions of their own bedroom door. Thicker than the length of Kili’s arm, though, they promised safety and shelter from the cold.

Icy winds bit his cheeks and the tip of his nose when they stepped outside, the cold air as solid as a brick wall. He wrapped an arm around Fili’s shoulders, leeching to his brother’s body warmth though little of it passed through the fur of their own clothes. With some delight, though, he noticed that the lighter furs on Fili’s collar and vest were from one of his own kills. His brother liked pretty things, and Kili liked to see him wear the results of his hunts, too, even more than he liked his mother or uncle or anyone doing it. Body warmth or not, though, the closeness of his brother and the familiar scent of his hair, already damp with snow, sparked warmth of their own in his bones, which seemed rather sufficient for now. The houses and tents right down the little slope quickly diverted his attention anyway.

Besides, he rather liked the cold and the snow. It meant his name day was approaching, and while most name days were not celebrated by dwarves after the second (which turned the birthday into the name day after all), the fiftieth one was a special occasion. On Durin’s Day after their fiftieth name day, young dwarves were finally accepted into adulthood, if not in the way of their education, which usually lasted another fifty years. But they would be allowed to pledge themselves to their king, and Fili – luckily enough to be born in July – would be allowed to do so next fall, whilst Kili, unlucky him that was born in late November, would have to wait _almost six more years_ , which, in Kili’s eyes was anything but fair. It was of little consolation to him that he was born only a month after their uncle, as such meaning Thorin had had to wait longer still – but then again, Thorin was the eldest, so he had not had to wait at all after watching his brother become an actual warrior and all that… and Thorin’s brother had not even lived to see his fiftieth name day at all… Kili’s thoughts had picked up their usual manner of jumping around as they pleased, gears turning in his head in a way he sometimes hardly could make out himself. It was warmer between the tents, too, with many coal fires burning in front of them, dwarves and humans alike huddling around them to warm their hands. The air, despite feeling like tiny frozen pins and needles in his lungs whenever he breathed, smelled of smoked ham, strange spices from distant lands, leather, honey, burning logs, molten iron, damp clothes, the dirt of the road…

Only when Kili bumped into someone he noticed his arm had slid off his brother’s shoulder. In fact, his brother and mother were nowhere to be seen. The human – one of the more grimy sort, in a shabby brown coat that reeked rather strongly of ale – unceremoniously shoved him aside, glaring at him from behind heavy reddened eyelids. “Ye got no eyes in yer head, kid?”

“Uh…” Kili swallowed, hastily glancing about, but with Fili and their mother gone, there likely was no immediate assistance to be expected. And this was a rather tall human, if swaying a bit while standing. Maybe if he used his hunting knife… The drunkard made a step towards him – staggering dangerously – and Kili’s hand slipped down to his belt where the hornmade hilt of said knife brother had taught him to hide on himself pressed into his hip, when at the same time someone grabbed his wrist rather sharply, bending his hand back down without the smallest chance of resistance, while the other arm grabbed him around the shoulders, turning him firmly away before he even had a chance to react. “Y’must excuse m’apprentice, m’lord” a voice he’d never heard before said, “Poor chap has ne’er left the mountain, y’see, daylight confuses him a lot, why don’t ye go have a drink in my name?”

The stranger – a dwarf, as size gave away, though most of his face was covered by a hood that might have been blue once but was now more grey than anything, bleached by sun and elements – continued his babbling while he tossed a coin at the man, and dragging him along in the opposite direction. It was only now Kili regained his voice, sudden anger rising within him at the other dwarf’s grip around his shoulders. “What are you doing?! I could’ve taken him down – with ease!” he added, jaw set in a firm line as he tried his most ferocious glare at the intruder.

“Savin‘ yer scruffy neck from gettin‘ in trouble, sweetie” his opponent replied, letting go of him only once they’d passed another handful of tents, and giving him a hearty pat on the back instead, obviously not intimidated at all while Kili rubbed his wrist, trying to conjure up a reply that was worthy of a prince. The stranger, however, had already stopped paying attention to him, glancing around the tent. “Nay,” he went on, „They’ll be too busy fillin‘ their bellies with mead. Y’out here all by yourself, sweetie?”

Kili opened his mouth and shut it again, outrage and some curiosity battling within him at the way this dwarf questioned his skill and honor along with it. “No, my mother and brother are – who do you think you are?!” he hissed, outrage finally winning the upper hand, “I’m not lettin‘ some human who can’t hold his liquor push me ‘round like that!”

“Well, his friends would’ve done a bit more than pushin‘,” the man replied jovially, „If y’had stuck any of them wi’that little knife o’yours. As for yer question, y’can guess up a name if y’d like, there’s days on which I barely know m’self. Y’can call me Tusâl**, if y’need some help.”

Kili rolled his eyes. “That’s a stupid name,” he replied, “Why’d anyone call his kid hunter?” Only now his eyes caught sight of the bow slung around the other dwarf’s shoulders, though, and the quiver on his back, and the slim, curved blades at his sights. Even with Kili’s zero talent for metalwork it was easy to notice that these blades were not dwarven or human made, and he crossed his arms in disapproval. “Are y’an elf spy or somethin‘, Tusâl?”

The other dwarf rubbed the back of his head without taking off the hood, a few dirty blonde strands of hair unruly poking out. “Y’could at least have the decency to tell me y’name, sweetie, ’fore accusing me o’random things.”

Kili’s jaw tightened momentarily in another surge of youthful stubbornness. Surely Fili and his mother would be here within a second, and he would not have to deal with random strangers calling him names anymore. Still, there was the manners his mother held in such high regard. “Kili,” he replied then, and adding a little begrudgingly: “At yer service.” He didn’t bow, though.

“Really,” Tusâl muttered half to himself, briefly rubbing a surprisingly beardless chin half hidden in the shadows of his cloak. What they did not hide, however, were the beginnings of a gruesome scar that started at the left corner of his mouth, reaching up far enough that Kili could not see how long it went on. It looked like the trace of a rather large animal, though. Maybe Tusâl‘s name was somewhat of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Or he’d chosen not to use his real name anymore. Banished dwarves got their head and beard shaved, after all, Kili knew as much, even though it did not happen overly often, only as a punishment for the worst of crimes – kinslaying, treason, child murder and the like. He bit his lip, taking a careful step away. Being in the company of kinslayers or murderers wasn’t precisely his favourite way to spend his time. The blades, though, _and he used a bow_ and Kili knew no other dwarf besides him that preferred arrows…

“That your mother?” Tusâl asked, giving a brief nod towards someone behind them, and Kili turned around to see Dis make her way through the crowd, eyes wandering here and there in search of her youngest. She _hated_ him wandering off. “Uh, yes,” Kili said, turning back around, “I guess she…”

But Tusâl was gone already.

 

* * *

 

* little Brother

** Hunter


	5. To See The World

**"** **I suppose it’s best we give him his freedom while he still thinks it's ours to give," she said. She looked at Jamie, then at me, straight and steady. "But you'll take good care of him, aye?"**

_(Diana Gabaldon, "Voyager")_

 

Dis had known her husband since childhood days. Son of the best stonecutters in Erebor, she knew his mother along with his baby sister had not made it out of the mountain – she had last been seen heading with others toward the eastern watchtower, the babe clutched to her chest – but Dali had, along with his father and his twin brothers, almost twenty years older than him. They’d been part of the group Thror and Thrain and his children had travelled with, afterwards, along with Fundin and his own family, and Nain and his son until they had decided to take up refuge in the Iron Hills and Thror and his kin had moved for the Blue Mountains.

Other than his brothers, who had been rather enthusiastic about Fundin teaching them how to fight along the princes and his own sons, Dali had always preferred a bow over a blade, and the vast open skies and forests. Golden haired like his father and brothers, though, he had also inherited his father’s skill for stonecutting, often spending days and weeks to polish tiny bits of gemstones, turning them into hair beads, amulets that were to be sown into people’s clothes, and other jewelry. It was his hands, gentle and nimble and slender and strong, she’d fallen in love with first, the hands his eldest son had inherited, proving his skill time and again at the forge. His eyes next, then, of the soft golden brown of honey and autumn leaves, of tree roots and the small stones in the river, eyes his youngest had now, the boy he’d not lived to see. His brothers, tall and fierce warriors as they had been, had been as close as her own boys were, yellow beards braided in the same fashion Fili wore his now, and with blue hoods, the color that had previously been a king’s privilege, but had been adapted by them when they had decided to serve as her eldest brother’s inofficial bodyguards, in a constant strain of minor brawls and exchanged snarky remarks with Dwalin.

It was not just Dali and his brothers who had left their traces in her sons, though, as she noticed not for the first time when her eyes followed the two of them obediently returning to the mountain, Kili, already a bit taller than his brother, having one arm wrapped around his brother’s shoulders once more, to avoid getting lost again. Kili’s size came from his mother’s side. She herself barely reached up to her brother’s shoulder, but Thorin himself was tall for a dwarf, with only Dwalin topping him for an inch or two. The hair, too, dark and curly like her own, though unruly like Frerin’s had been, as far as she remembered her second brother, always a smile on his face, always up for no good. Fili was stout where his brother was slim, though; stout like Dis herself, and slim, again, like her husband had been. However, Fili had inherited the calm, collected demeanor she remembered of her own father. Having been crown prince for almost his entire life, Thrain had known how to be the second in command, a soldier, loyal and dependable and rooted in stone and steel. His skills in ruling had never been tested, though, and while she did not doubt Fili’s own skills, she hoped dearly that his time to rule would not come too soon. She had yet to decide whether it had been too soon for her own brother, orphaned and a war hero at 53, with his brother, father and grandfather slain in the same battle along with many of his friends.

“You did not tell him, I suppose,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. Fur linned gloves or not, her hands felt cold as ice.

“I didn’t,” Tusâl replied, blue eyes glinting beneath his hood, “He wouldn’t have known me anyway, would he?”

Dis‘ lips tightened briefly, and she turned around, brushing a dark curl that had somehow escaped her braids away from her forehead. “Will you be home for Durin’s Day?”

She rather felt the smile than seeing it in the shadows. “Not this year, princess. Not next year either, I suppose. Too dangerous.”

She made a half hearted attempt to glare at him, though of course it was the answer she had expected. Instead, her hands briefly curled into the seam of her vest. “And where will you be going instead?”

“South, I reckon. Chasin‘ after rumors an‘ shadows. I dinna know yet when I’ll be back.” His eyes narrowed slightly at her. “Y’don’t need to worry, princess. Other than some, I know m’way around. I’ll be back in no time. If all else fails, send me a raven and I’ll come back as soon as possible.” He reached forward and suddenly her heart leapt in her throat; almost, she flinched away. But he only tucked back that one unruly strand of hair, giving her a brief smile. “Ye do trust me, don’t ye?”

 _Trust, hah._ There were a million words at once in her throat, all of them demanding to be spoken, and yet there were too few on the tip of her tongue when she opened her mouth, the fading warmth of his touch on her forehead feeling as if he’d left a mark burned into the skin.

_Try not to die._

_Return to me._

“Travel safely” she said instead.

 

The hot springs were Kili’s favourite place in the entire mountain, much better than the dark mining tunnels far below which Thorin had long since forbidden them to visit, and even better than their mother’s pantry, where she kept fresh made sweets and cookies in attempts to hide them from Dwalin (and her greedy offspring). Of course, he knew the stony pools and roughly carved walls around them were no comparison to the royal baths of Erebor – Balin had said so – but the hot water that surged up from the earth left the air damp and steaming, and the moment he’d taken off his clothes to slide into one of the pools, warmth surged through his veins again, thawing icy toes and fingers immediately as he sank into the heat with a content noise, until the water reached up to his nose. Fili took a little longer to undress, placing his clothes aside rather than dumping them on the grounds like Kili, before he joined him, sitting across the tiny pool, eyes closing in blissful relaxation.

“How’s it that the water’s always hot in here, Fee?”

“’tis Mahal’s cooking pots,” Fili replied without opening his eyes, “If ye stay in long enough, th’meat’s gonna fall from your bones like a cooked chicken’s.”

Kili snickered at the thought. “I dinna think it is,” he answered thoughtfully, slowly shifting through the water until his shoulder bumped against Fili’s and he glanced down at the tiny riples against his brother’s chest. The hair here and on his arms was blond like on his head, just a bit darker.

“It’s no‘ the heated water from the forges,” he mused, “Tha’one runs in pipes and warms th’bedrooms and Amad uses it for the cooking and washing and all that. It must be from the mountain itself, right? There’s water in the mountain, that’s what’s being heated by the forges. But that’s not warm like this. Are there different kinds of water in the mountain, Fee?”

One eye slid open, glancing at him. “Water’s always cold, unless somethin‘ heats it,” Fili replied, then, shifting a bit more to place his arm around Kili’s shoulder and allowing his baby brother to rest against him, who happily snuggled into him.

“Is there somethin‘ in the mountain that heats it, then, other than the forges?” Kili asked curiously, blinking up at him, “Balin said some mountains breathe fire like dragons. Maybe it’s like that, only th’mountain’s fire heats the water.”

Fili grimaced lightly. “Sittin‘ on a firebreathin‘ mountain doesn’t sound too appealin‘, though,” he answered, “An‘ there’s no fire here, jus‘ the forges.”

“It’s from deep under the mountain,” Kili replied, far too fascinated by the idea of fire-breathing mountains, “Maybe it doesna reach up to us, but the water found an easier way. It just warms our water an‘ feet a bit. That’s nay so bad.”

“Hmm.” Fili made an approving sound. “Y’re the cleverest dwarf there is, Kee” he muttered.

Kili grinned almost shyly, though his cheeks were already flushed by the heat of their bath, and his expression became serious again rather soon. “I’m no‘,” he answered, head sinking back against his brother’s shoulder, “I didna learn readin‘ and writin‘ as fast as y’did, only when Uncle taught me, ‘cause I wouldna understand Balin an’m’hand wouldn’t work as I wanted it too…”

Now, both eyes of his brother opened as he looked down at him, wrapping his one arm a bit closer around him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Y’hands work just fine,” Fili replied firmly, “Nobody said a thing when I started usin‘ both hands for a weapon, aye? Y’hands make the best drawings and shoot th’best arrows. There’s naught wrong with that. Y’re still the cleverest dwarf there is. An‘ with y’gut feelings, we can win any bets, which is even better.”

Kili gave a smile, burying himself in the safety of his brother’s arms. Gut feelings – well, it was mostly that, really. Ever since that day on the guards‘ overlook he’d dutyfully told his uncle of any strange dreams he’d had. They happened rarely, though, and mostly, when he woke, he would not remember at all. It was only during the day he remembered, or sometimes later still, in the following week or more, when they’d return to him as the sudden feeling of deja vu, followed by a certain feeling in his stomach, for better or worse. It had proven true, though, on more than one occasion, so his brother’s remark about winning bets with it was justified. Not precisely fair play – he was sure their uncle would have disapproved – but very helpful on occasion.

He glanced up at his brother. “Love you, Fee” he hummed, eyes slipping shut in relaxation for a moment. Fili shifted a bit beneath his cheek, the flush on his cheeks suddenly not seeming to come from the heat of the bath alone. “Love you too, Kee” he muttered, but he did not look at him when he did so.

 

“Gloin has been most helpful in refilling our stocks.” Thorin’s brows furrowed a bit as he studied the parchment Dís had used to note the purchases of market day. It was Balin’s work most of the time, but since it usually took up less than ten minutes, Dís had brought it to himself. It provided a neat opportunity to speak to her brother in private while the boys were occupied, too. “He has” she replied cheerfully, though, “and he’ll continue to do so, for all I know, and not stray overly far from the Blue Mountains as well.”

Thorin glanced up, one eyebrow quirked. “Dare I ask why, my dear sister?”

She smiled innocently, leaning a little more across the table. “Just me helping one of the girls to find their proper match.”

Her brother’s brows rose a little higher. “I take it none don’t yet know of their luck.”

“She does” Dís replied, “Gurli asked me for help. So I arranged for her to perform the necessary errands with the traders, and all that. Maybe we cannot force fate’s hand, but we can surely point it towards the right direction?”

Thorin gave somewhat of a brief smile, glancing down at the parchment in his hands once more. “Not to mention that one of your handmaidens marrying the chief of the trader’s guild would likely provide not only better prices for us, but also valuable information from the other end of Arda if necessary, eh?”

Dís returned the smile, not answering.

With a sigh, Thorin leaned back a little, finally placing the parchment aside and glancing up at her. He looked tired, but then again, the hour was growing late anyway; still, she reached out to run her fingertips briefly over his forehead. “What’s troubling you?”

Thorin hesitated, and suddenly Dís felt a cold chill run down her spine. “What?” she asked, her voice a little sharper.

“I want to take the boys along” Thorin replied cautiously. King or not, with his sister, it had never been a question of submission or royal courtesies, no matter her loyalty.

Right now, Dís did neither feel overly submissive nor precisely loyal, though. “No” she replied, her voice cutting through the air like a knife as she took a hasty step back, her eyes the color of the frozen lakes outside. “You’re not going to drag my babies out in the wilderness. They’re not even of age yet!”

Thorin’s lips tightened at the tone of her voice. “It’s only to Bree” he replied, meeting her eyes with stern calmness, “And we’re not going to leave before spring. Fili will be of age in less than a year, and you know as well as I do that he can’t stay in these halls forever and only leave them for the occasional hunting trip. He needs to see the world, and I’d rather know Kili safe with him than risk him trying to run after his brother and get himself in trouble.”

Crossing her arms in half defense, fists clenching, Dís glared at him. “I said no” she replied, “They’re not yours to command. They have sworn you no oath yet, and they’re children. They’re _my_ children.”

“I cherish the lads as if they were my own” Thorin answered sharply. He’d risen to his feet, more out of impulse rather than to actually make a threatening impression; Dís did not back down anyway. Size had never mattered much where their opponents were concerned, after all.

“Well, they’re mine” she returned, “And it’s not safe for them, even less in a town of men with the two of them barely towering above a grown man’s waistline.” It wasn’t safe for them to leave the mountains in any case, of course, and suddenly, she felt the words on the tip of her tongue, tasting bitter and acid and vile. _Do you not know who’s out there, hunting for Durin heads and no less dangerous than last you faced him?_ _Do you not know what I do to make sure you are safe?_ But she didn’t dare mention it, no matter what fury burned through her veins. He didn’t known. To tell her brother would have been to rip from him everything they had laboriously rebuilt since that fateful day in which they both had lost almost all of their family except for each other, including his reputation and what was left of her brother’s pride. It would have been the peak of cruelty, and it also bore the danger of another war, out of revenge and necessity. There was no chance to risk that – not to mention that it would have meant for her to explain where precisely she had gotten that bit of information and _that_ was something her brother likely would have taken even worse. It was that thought, however, that seemed to ease her mind – as much as it could be called that. _South_ , he’d said. Chasing after rumors and shadows – but south. Far away from the Blue Mountains, then, and from Bree, too, considering it was maybe a three weeks’ travel. South, keeping the family safe.

“They did grow a bit taller than that, by now” Thorin replied, the expression on his face the barest hint of a smirk as he stepped around the desk, making a small movement as if to reach for her arm. She pulled away, and he froze immediately.

“I don’t care how tall they grow!” she hissed, fists still clenched, “I’d rather accompany you myself, if you need an _escort_ -“

“They’re not to be my escort” Thorin replied, “Dwalin will do just fine with that, thank you. Fili is to come along so he learns how to deal with humans, and I’ve told you why I need Kili, too. He’ll have to learn some day.” He made another step towards her, now actually reaching for her arm, turning her around so she had to face him, briefly cupping her cheek with his free hand. His touch was warm and kind, but firm; she had no choice but to meet his eyes once more, biting her lower lip to suppress the sudden burning behind her lids.

“I’ve lost my husband to the wilderness, and my family to the orcs of Moria” she managed, her voice surprisingly raspy, but her eyes locked with her brother’s as if some strange force made it impossible for her to look away. She stared without blinking, until her sight blurred after all. “Do you think it’s easy for me to watch them so much as walk through these gates, and even if it’s just for hunting trips with you and Dwalin and others in their company? Every time they leave I expect to be presented with their bodies when you return. Every time _you_ set out for a journey I expect you not to return at all. And now I’m supposed to let all three of you leave?”

He did not say a thing, but instead she felt his arms around her, safe and strong as they’d always been, and she buried her head at his shoulder. As much as they had been working hand in hand ever since her brother had taken the throne, her brother had been a tower of strength for as long as she even remembered, even when he’d been nothing but a boy whose home had been burned to ruins by dragonfire, through exile and starvation, harsh winters and war, through grief and the joy of raising the boys together, when he’d taken it on him to raise them after Dali’s death. And yet, it was moments like these in which she saw the mask crack apart at the seams, whether it was the barely visible silver strands that had already begun to show in his hair, or the faint pressure of his hand on her back, supporting himself as much as her.

“Bring them back to me” she whispered, glancing up at him, and violently fighting back the tears that threatened to spill once more.

 


	6. A Taste Of Spring

SORRY SORRY SORRY for keeping you all waiting for so long! I was head over heels into university work - the term's going to end in February :) Next chapter will hopefully come a little quicker after that. Enjoy this one! And belated happy holidays/new year to you all :D

 

* * *

 

 

**We have been banded together under pack codes and tribal laws.**

_(Rose Macaulay)_

 

“Steady!”

Dwalin’s voice cut through the air as much as his axe as Kili stumbled back, grimacing as he dropped his shield. He _hated_ shield practice.

“Y’don’t watch yer legs, boy” the elder dwarf growled as he picked up Kili’s shield, “Watch yer stance, aye? Try again!”

Kili huffed, taking the shield from his brother, but taking position. “Why d’I have to use a shield?” he asked defiantly, “Fili doesna have one either!” Accusingly, he glanced at his brother who shot him a smug grin, swords crossed over his shoulders.

“Well, I’m older than ye are” Fili replied, still grinning, “An’ I’m the better fighter, so they allow me t’use two weapons instead o’jus’one and a shield.”

Kili narrowed his eyes at him, dropping the shield and crossing his arms. “I can do without a shield!” he decided, “Lemme have a try, mas’er Dwalin! Please!”

Dwalin’s eyebrows twitched over beady eyes, frowning at the sword in Kili’s hands, but then shrugged. “Aye, if ye will, laddie. Give it a try, then.”

Kili shot a brief glance at his brother, but quickly made a step back to get himself into position.

Fili himself gave a dramatic sigh, stepping back only so much to leave some room for Dwalin and his brother. It wasn’t the first time Kili rejected shield practice, of course. In fact, he’d done so basically since the very first moment he’d been given a shield to practice with. He knew his brother preferred a bow over a blade anyway, but the shield… Dimly, he suspected that it was indeed their uncle’s fault, or rather that was what had gotten into his precious baby brother’s head. Their uncle had lost his shield in battle and become a hero through that, so if one fought without a shield altogether, the path to heroism, of course, had to be much shorter.

Grimacing, and stepping from one foot to the other uneasily, he watched as his brother dodged Dwalin’s attacks rather successfully, shield or not, squirming his way around like a weasel. It was obvious that he was exhausting himself, though, and not long until he slipped, and Dwalin grabbed him by the lapel of his shirt, causing the boy to giggle and squirm some more. “Watch yer footwork” the elder dwarf repeated, his voice firm, but not unkind as he bent him over backwards and Kili struggled to keep himself on his feet as the hilt of Dwalin’s mace gently tabbed him on a particularly ticklish spot right beneath the breastbone on his chest, “Wi’that, ye’re gonna get yerself gutted like a trout in no time.”

Kili huffed, trying to maintain his balance. “I won’t!” he objected, his voice a little muffled by his attempts, “Nori said, orcs dinna kill like that. They prefer cuttin’ folks’ heads off, or run’em through, they wouldna spend so much time t’get me in position.”

Dwalin let go, and Kili fell flat on his back, gasping for air, but of course Fili was there within a minute to get him back up, glaring at Dwalin. “I’ll teach him t’use a shield” he said hastily, shooting his brother a warning glance, though Kili did not seem overly content with the outcome of his little experiment.

“Aye, I don’t doubt that” Dwalin replied, frowning only so much, “’til then, we’ll keep practicin’.” He gave Fili a light clap on the shoulder, briefly glancing over to Thorin who was hovering about a little further off, keeping a close eye on their doings, and at the same time speaking to Balin and Gloin, quietly, but intently. “Dinna forget, laddie, it’s yer job to guard yer brother’s weak side, aye?”

Kili grimaced a bit at the reminder of his left-handedness; still, Dwalin did not instruct him to use the other for his blade, but stepped back instead.

“Alright, the two of ye. Take care of each other, whilst I speak to yer uncle, will ye?”

The elder dwarf turned around, and Kili dropped his blade that very instant, charging at his brother instead.

Clouds of dust and sand rose up around them as they rolled across the training grounds, giggling and squirming and a tangle of limbs and hair until Kili managed to safely pin his brother to the ground, one knee strategically place on either side of his brother’s hips, his hair a sandy mess, the grin on his face brighter than sunshine.

“I win!”

Fili gasped and squirmed, but it was not before Kili got hold of his wrists that his eyes shot upward at his sweet baby brother’s face (and so very close he was, but Fili preferred to shove that thought back into some dark corner of his mind).

“Kee…” He huffed, making a brief attempt to free himself, but Kili’s knees tightened around his hips, and he froze, glancing upwards carefully.

Kili grinned down at him, dignity not the slightest bit impaired by the fact that half his face was clotted with sand and damp hair. “I win” he repeated, “Show me your neck, brother dear!”

Fili stared at him. “What?” he hissed under his breath, “Are ye daft, man?”

Kili’s knees tightened a bit more. “It’s how wolves do it” he explained, “I’ve seen it, aye? I won, you gotta admit it!”

Fili’s eyes narrowed only so much. Used as he was to his brother’s shenanigans, he was by no means willing to give in that easily. Besides, there was the matter of honor to be concerned – losing was not honorable at all, and…

His brother’s knees tightened further still, pressing into his sides, and Fili gasped, obediently tilting back his head. “Happy? Are ye gonna bite my neck, too?”, he hissed – though his anger was, of course, not as bad as he might have sounded like; the joy in his brother’s eyes was worth everything.

Kili glanced over him, pondering for a brief moment and then shrugging. Without preamble, he lowered his head and Fili felt quite literally his brother’s teeth scraping over his neck, the sensation not painful at all as he’d thought as much. Instead, all of a sudden, the flames had returned to shoot through his veins once more, and he gasped once more, though this time, his spine arched up into his brother’s lips as his eyelids slipped shut for a brief moment. He did not need to see, though, to know that every hair on his body stood on end (and, as he feared, not just his hair, but luckily, Kili was sitting a little too far up to notice anything else).

A soft coughing rather close to his right ear caused his eyes to fly wide open immediately again, and the sensation was gone as Kili chuckled, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth to get the sand out from between his teeth.

“I believe” Balin said, very careful not to look at the two of them, but focusing his eyes on Dwalin and Thorin on the side instead, “it is time for your cartography lessons. Don’t you think?”

 

The snow melted, the trees in the valleys brought forth new leaves, and the world turned from white to green again as it was time for them to leave. Kili had been bouncing about with excitement for weeks, of course; it was always hard for him, when the long winter nights forbade any longer ventures outside the halls – even moreso as it had been a late winter day such as these that had cost their father’s life. The boy had always possessed a love for the open sky and the forests, more than any other dwarf Thorin had ever known – well, with two exceptions, maybe, and both of these had been laid to rest in the Hall of Ancestors far beneath the royal quarters, Frerin ten and Dali five decades ago. Thorin was, of course, well aware of the fact that him being about to leave with the boys in tow likely brought back memories of her husband to Dís’ mind as well as to his own. It was these memories that had moved him to seek out his brother in law today.

The Hall of Ancestors was – technically – a public place, as it stood open to all dwarves that wished to honor their previous kings and kin, whether it was during the Days of Memory prior to the Yule feast, or at any other time in which they deemed it necessary to seek out their forefather’s council. This evening, however, they seemed even more quiet than usual. The torches cast lengthy shadows that flickered along the statues, almost mimicking their movement, as if they had suddenly come back to life in Thorin’s passing. Briefly, he felt that familiar small flicker of uneasiness creep back into his stomach. Being aware of the spirits and ghosts of the past as much as any dwarf, he had never been overly fond of this place, not even as it had still been part of his home. It had only been much later, fighting a war in different halls rather than those that were his by right, when he’d learned that sometimes, the shadow _did_ indeed come alive, armed with razor sharp teeth and rusty blades.

He pushed that thought from his mind and hurried on, past the rows of simply, but no less beautifully made tomb slabs, showing the carvings of names, faces and whatever great deeds their owner had achieved in life. The ones he sought were at the far end, however, in the King’s chamber.

It was indeed six of them, holding a number of seven dwarves, three equipped with statues that showed eerily familiar features. His grandfather’s eyes, wistfully focused on some distant aim, the carvings of his beard so finely done that they resembled actual hair to an extent that made him wonder if it stirred when caught in a flurry of air – his father, square shoulders settled as if for battle – and of course the yet beardless face of the boy that had fallen next to them, and of whom they had barely recovered enough to see him properly to his grave. The skill of that stonemason had been remarkable; all three faces had been carved entirely from memory, of course, and yet the resemblance was stunning. It was also a dagger in Thorin’s heart, twisting wickedly at the sight. Today, he had come not for his brother, or the advice of his forefather’s, though. His attention was focused on the graves below, all covered with stones like the ones outside. One, for the boys’ grandfather – on their father’s side, of course – who had died in that fateful battle along with his two eldest sons. The twins, Veli and Fjeli, had fallen defending the prince, who had been their friend, protecting him with shield and body, and buried in the same grave – as inseparable as they had been in life, it had seemed unnecessarily cruel to separate them in death.

Dali’s tomb was the newest, on the far right. A small, carved stone, no larger than Thorin’s palm, had been placed atop it, right below his name; dusty as it was, the carving itself was barely visible anymore, but Thorin knew it as one of the rune medallions his sister had made. The one she’d given to himself was firmly sewn into the leather garment he wore for travelling, a dark blue, oval shaped thing etched with fine lines of dwarven runes that roughly translated to “believe!”. In fact, she had given it to him almost the same hundred years ago, once he had seen himself faced with the sudden weight of the crown after the battle in which his predecessors had fallen. “I trust you” she’d said, her voice surprisingly firm for the girl of 39 years that she’d been, her hair still cropped short in grief as well as his own, and Dali’s, who’d never let it grow back again after the loss of his family, “You’re not our grandfather.”

Still, it took some effort for him to shift his glance away from the elder dwarf’s face, and to focus on the stone plate beneath.

_Dali._

There was his face, of course, carved into granite – not by professional, but sometimes too distant hands of a stonecutter, but a little rougher instead, etched into the stone by loving hands that had known his face as much as her own. Of course, Dís had done it herself, pregnancy notwithstanding – there was nothing that could turn her from her purpose, once she’d deemed anything as such. The carving showed the face of a dwarf far too young to be buried beneath the stones, not blurred by any imaginations of the warrior he could have been had fate deemed it otherwise, but as he’d been in life, golden hair still cropped short, but showing the promise of curls on his neck and above his ears, doe eyes gentle and a corner of his mouth almost raised in what might have been mirth. Of course, he’d looked quite different when Thorin had first met him.

He’d also been very bent on throttling Frerin.

_Their group consisted of merely a handful of dwarves, Thror’s reputation proceeding them and most of their kin being superstitious enough to believe that if his grandfather’s sickness had brought a dragon upon them, it likely was not save to be around him any longer, king or not. Of their teachers and nursemaids, only Fundin had remained, in fact. Thorin himself felt rather grateful for that (though he never would have admitted it, not even in front of Frerin, and Frerin knew everything else about him). Fundin had always been his father’s right hand man, after all, with Thrain having no brothers to support him. His sons were good company, too, being educated along with the princes, though it was already obvious that despite having inherited the family’s skill for war, Balin’s career would likely not lead him into battle unless necessary. And there was also the fact that, as long as people did not notice, Fundin allowed him to use his left hand while training…_

_The boy rubbed the back of his left hand absently, pondering about this. His father didn’t like using him the left hand, and neither did his grandfather. It was wise not to cross Thror, too, for all the time they’d been away from home, his grandfather’s temper had not improved, rather the opposite, with people abruptly ceasing to speak when they entered a room, or shooting sideways glances at them the moment they turned their backs. No need to bring further shame to the family._

_Dís was squatting in the grass a little further away from him, green blades therefore almost reaching over her head, and barely visible except for a few stray dark curls that occasionally bobbed up. He could hear her talking whilst she collected – well, stones, probably; deprived of the resources of the mountains, she still seemed to be able to find the occasional semi-precious gemstone wherever she went. Of course, at her age, she could not yet make much use of it, but…_

_“Who’re you talking to, namad?” he asked, his eyes briefly fluttering across the clearing in search of his brother, though Frerin was nowhere to be seen. Sneaked off to hunt down their dinner, to be sure. Ought he to follow him, or stay and keep an eye on his sister?_

_Said sister’s head popped up above the grass for a brief instant, all rosy cheeks and light skin, a stray brown leaf caught in her hair. “Mother, of course” she replied matter-of-factly before sinking to her knees again._

_Thorin felt a small spark of ice somewhere behind his heart, as always at the mention of Thrain’s wife. She had, of course, been dead for almost twenty years by now, but… Still, he frowned._

_“How’d you speak to her?” he asked, careful not to mention her name. Of course, the grieving period was long since over, his hair regrown, but still – best not to call upon spirits if there was no need for it._

_Dís rose to her feet again, stones safely stuffed into the pockets of her vest. Her buckskin trousers were stained with dirt, as he noticed. They would have to clean her up before father saw. “Why, I open me mouth and words come oot, of course” she explained, giving him an odd look, “How do ye speak to her?”_

_“I don’t speak to her” he replied, a certain edge to his voice, though he was unable to tell how it’d gotten there, “She’s dead.”_

_The little girl huffed, apparently not the slightest bit taken aback by the sudden change in his voice, feet shuffling as she came over to take his hand, obediently allowing Thorin to lead her back into the direction of their camp. “I ne’er knew her” she pointed out, “When I meet her in Mandos’ Halls, how’s she supposed tae know **me** if I ne’er spoke tae her?”_

_He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, glancing down at her. “She will” he answered, though his voice was not as steady as he’d wanted it to be. What if she was right? He could hardly ask his father about that, could he? Maybe Fundin would know._

_He tugged her hand to make her go faster. “C’mon, it’s getting dark.” It was only then he heard his brother scream, though._

_The blood froze in his very veins at the sound – though it sounded more angry than afraid, the rational part of his brain told him, but by that time, he’d already let go of his sister’s hand, turned around and was hastening through the underwood, twigs and leaves snapping against him, following the noise._

_It didn’t take long to find them._

_Frerin was lying face down in a heap of wet leaves, screeching and struggling against the kid he was fighting with, a lad maybe a year or so younger than him, but an inch taller, with blond hair in which the last sunrays of autumn caught and set it ablaze like the fallen leaves. Right now, Thorin was hardly concerned with his looks, though, and more focused on the bastard’s arm wrapped around his baby brother’s neck._

_“Let him go!” He charged forward and head first into his brother’s attacker, knocking the lad over on his back, causing him to gasp for breath and squirm like a snake. He was slim for his age (but then again, most wandering dwarves were, and from a corner of his eye he noticed that the fiend was dressed in little more than rags), and it felt like wrestling with a colt for all he was struggling. His ears were ringing, though, and dimly he noticed that someone was pulling on his shirt rather violently in an attempt to make him let go, another blond haired boy (somewhat older than the other), and it was only then he noticed Dwalin appearing at the edge of the clearing, holding Dís’ hand, but letting go immediately as he saw Thorin in trouble, and then someone blocked his sight again and he felt the metallic taste of blood on his tongue._

_Someone grabbed him by the neck and pulled him to his feet, and he found himself face to face with an unknown dwarf, very much grown up. Lighter strands drew themselves through the gold of his own hair, and his eyes were brown like those of the boy – boys, as Thorin noticed now; it was three of them, twin brothers, one of them with a bloody nose, and the younger one, pressing his sleeve against his bloodied mouth, glowering at him. “Da! We were a’huntin’ – they attacked us!” the youngest hissed from behind his sleeve, only to be immediately drowned out by Frerin who made a quick move towards him and managing to grab his belt, effectively knocking him down on the ground again._

_“Frerin!” Thorin struggled, but before he could escape the other’s grip, the elder dwarf reached for Frerin’s arm and pulled him away from his son, leaving only Dwalin to deal with (and the twins held him quite well in check)._

_“Who do ye think ye are, laddie, attackin’ my boys like that?” he demanded, though Dwalin was quicker to answer than Thorin._

_“He’s Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror! Ye best kneel before him, ye fuckin’ idjeets!”_

_The elder dwarf stared at him, half frowning. “Ye’re what?”_

_“My son” Thrain’s voice came from where he’d stepped out of the undergrowth, mustering the stranger and the three boys with interest, but not particularly threatening yet, “and the other wee troublemaker, as well.”_

_The pressure on Thorin’s neck released immediately and he stumbled away, rubbing his neck and glowering at the elder dwarf, Frerin clutching to his arm protectively. He opened his mouth to explain, but so did the other boy._

_“I was hunting-”_

_“-shot a deer-”_

_“-that’s **not** true, I shot-”_

_“-‘twas my arrow that killed him-”_

_“-I swear-”_

_“-attacked me **without** reason, him and-”_

_“-like **bandits** -”_

_“Quiet!” Thrain’s voice cut through the air with princely authority and he shot both of the boys a piercing glare. “Where is that animal, now?”_

_Frerin took a deep breath, brushing messy dirty blonde curls out of his face, streaked with mud as it was. There was a leaf stuck in his hair, too; Thorin quickly reached up to remove it. “O’er there” Frerin answered obediently, head lowering in what might have been mistaken for guilt, were it not for the glint in his eyes, blue as the summer sky, and mischievous as ever as he pointed into the general direction._

_It **was** a huge deer. It had collapsed in the undergrowth a minute or two away, antlers cracked and splintered beneath the weight of it as it had fallen to one side, one hoof sticking upward black and threatening as if it was about to deliver a deadly blow to anyone daring to venture too close._

_Thrain gave a small, whistling sound as he saw the creature that would likely keep them – and most of their camp along with them – fed for more than a day._

_“And the two of ye shot this all by yerself?”_

_Frerin huffed, chin stubbornly raised. “I did. He didna do anythin’ but get in the way!”_

_Thrain’s eyebrows rose briefly and he glanced at the nameless boy who glowered at Frerin. “That’s not true! Look, it’s got my arrow!” He escaped from his father’s grip on the lad’s arm, ducked away from Thrain and skittered through the dry leaves, pulling out the arrow from the animal’s side with some effort. “See!”_

_“It’s got mine too!” Frerin pointed out, crossing his arms. “How’re ye supposed ta know what killed it, now?”_

_The corners of Thrain’s mouth twitched briefly. “I dinna think we ever shall know that, boy.” He gave Frerin a brief pat on the head, turning around to face their opponents. “Seein’ as we’re unlikely to find out, I’d suggest ye join us for supper, then.”_

They had.

They had also decided to stay, with the twins having been bonny fighters at their young age already, and Dali a decent hunter, along with Frerin. (Of course, both of them had been convinced to be the best hunters of their camp.)

It seemed the boys were following in their father’s footsteps, after all.

Thorin reached out, fingertips briefly following the outlines of Dali’s face on the stone.

_Our Maker guide you, brother. I will take good care of them._


	7. Interlude: Fire On The Mountain

**Fiery mountain beneath the moon…**

_(Neil Finn, “Song of the Lonely Mountain”)_

 

_30 years earlier, at the shores of the Long Lake – approximately 60 years before the quest for Erebor…_

Well, but there were only so many ways to know, weren’t there? Tusâl reminded himself, pulling himself up another step, and one more, and finally reached the top, sharp edged cliffs as they were.

It did, of course, look quite different.

From what he remembered – most of the time he pretended that he did not remember anything at all – there had been green slopes, light forests and grasslands down to the lake itself, teeming with deer, blooming with crops and meadows. Now, all that remained were bleak rocks, scarred and scorched earth, and the ever-present smell of ash and death. The desolation of Smaug, indeed.

He grit his teeth and set himself to purpose.

 

The sky above him was as grey as the rocks themselves, and the entrance to the mountain was a gaping black hole. He made his way down a small pathway on the side, and towards the ruined city, step by step. It seemed that with the dragon’s presence so very much overwhelming everywhere around him, not even the wind dared to blow, and the only noise that followed him was the soft rattle of small stones loosened by his boots. It was a huge contrast to the woods, of course, with all the ruffle and whispers of the wind, the occasional bird singing or at least the hooves of small (and larger) deer, but that memory had just as well been fading from his mind the moment he’d left the Woodland Realm. There was nothing left for him on either side of the Misty Mountains, as it seemed – now, all that could be done, was what he had come here for.

When he reached what had once been a thriving city, the silence was ringing in his ears. His own steps sounded hollow in the streets, empty as they were, because of course even charred corpses had long since faded to dust, and if human souls needed to be surrounded by stone to be able to rest in peace, the ones yet present here chose not to show themselves.

 

_Birds._

Their voices rose him from a dreamless slumber, the sky still grey, and no possibility to tell how much time had passed. Was it morning? Noon, maybe? The world around him was still eerily silent, except for…

_Birds?_

He blinked, straightening himself up from where he had fallen asleep, staring at the wee brown thing half dazedly and with no real idea what to do with it (eat it, perhaps?) unless he recognized it as a thrush. It only seemed to have waited for this conclusion of his, and he felt the lightning of shock ripple through his veins at the recognition. Taking a deep breath, he got himself to his feet. “Alright” he said, as calmly as possible, “Show me.”

It was worth a look, then, close to autumn as it was.

The small bird cocked his head, giving him a somewhat dubious glance. He rolled his eyes briefly, and repeated his command – ask? Plea? – in its language, and it spread its wings and flew off.

He followed.

 

Of course, once you knew what you were looking for, a giant, roughly cube shaped stair case marked with even more giant statues bearing Thror’s face was hard to overlook. The old dwarf gave him a scornful look out of stone eyes, and Tusâl briefly rolled his own. He did avert the old man’s gaze, though, when he made his way up the stairs. Some things never changed, as it seemed.

The thrush was awaiting him, stupid thing, watching his climb sitting on a rock, head tilted slightly to one side. It was surprisingly tame, too, as he noticed; well, maybe the dragon did not like thrush, and there were no larger animals left in the direct area it should have had to fear. By the time he reached the top, it had gone darker; whether it was due to the time of day, or due to a storm approaching, he could not tell. He straightened himself up, brushing off stone splinters and dirt from his hands. “Oh, aye?” he muttered, eyeing the bird, “Up here, is it? If ye say so.” As much as birds were able to have facial expressions, it did manage remarkably well to shoot him a judging look that said all too clearly something along the lines of “do you think I wouldn’t know, with all the time I’ve been hanging out here, waiting for someone of your kind to come along?”. One corner of his mouth curled into a halfhearted smirk as he turned over to examine the stone.

Dimly, he wondered what time of the year it was, exactly. Was Durin’s Day approaching? If everything went according to plan, he would not be able to sit here for weeks and maybe months, waiting for a keyhole to appear or not. And then, of course, it was no use without the key in the first place, so it had no use at all, did it?

_The key…_

Dimly, he wondered what might have happened to it. Then he pushed that thought from his mind, as well, and sat back, resting himself against the stone, briefly rubbing his eyes. It was no use, was it? Besides, it was obvious that the dragon left the mountain through the main entrance, every now and then – the stones had long since been removed, pushed aside by a force stronger than every dwarf. There was no need to sneak inside the mountain and kill him there; all he had to do was wait, and make sure the wicked creature would be taken unaware, and… well, it wasn’t as if he’d made many plans for whatever came after. If the mountain lay empty, of course…

He felt a corner of his mouth curl in what might have been a grin, had he remembered any expression of that sort. Well, maybe he managed to stay alive long enough to send a raven – anywhere. Maybe not. Maybe he would rather _not_ tell them at all. Should rumors of the dragon’s demise reach them, well, he would not be alive to prevent that from happening. If not… not his problem, was it? Not his problem indeed.

That, of course, meant that the dragon had to be dealt with in the first place.

He rose back to his feet, eyes wandering over the remaining ruins of Dale, surprisingly clearly visible despite the weather. The dragon needed to be taken unaware, and that… would have to happen while he was on the ground. For that, there were only two options: When he left the mountain, or when he moved to get back inside. For all Tusâl remembered, the insides of the Mountain were large enough that a dragon would be able to roam about freely, but at least it would keep him from flying, wouldn’t it? It would have to be a matter of timing, then, and then, of course, the minor issue of the beast’s scales was to be concerned. If only…

His eyes focused on the towers of the city, most of them crushed, but one or two still miraculously intact, and he felt his heart skip a beat. If the remains of one of the windlances were to be found, could it be put back together? He barely noticed how he set himself in motion once more, his feet lighting with every step he made down the stairs, a new song on his lips. “ _We’ll met again in Mandos’ Halls/no death nor fire frighten us…_ ”


End file.
